A poem by Rob Geyer, Maundy Thursday 2022 prompted by an act of vandalism that occurred during the previous night, breaking a window in our sanctuary window in window out does our view shift depending on where we are, inside or out? does the rock that made a hole offer any way for us to…
by Sue Oringel, for Judith Krause Now that funky Central Avenue is dressed like a bride with lines of Bradford pear trees bursting in white and shad bushes peep from stands of trees showing just a bit of crinoline and magnolias fling their pink or white gloves on newly manicured lawns where redbuds unroll thin ropes…
Painting: Charles Porter (1847-1923) November by Susan E. Oringel With each shower of leaves, I cursed the spendthrift trees who tossed their coins away to any old wind. Mourned the bright riot, summer’s dahlias, red and phosphorescent suns. Now a kind of quiet comes, a slow, hard wind shivering sober branches, …